


purr

by ruruka



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, boundaries friendships and crushes.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 11:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13270359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruruka/pseuds/ruruka
Summary: my power went out today.





	purr

**Author's Note:**

> my power went out today.

idol girls are prissy. idol girls are rich.

idol girls lay themselves beneath three duvets when their apartment buildings are gelid, eyes glazed over in ennui and begging in silence this january be kinder in her days to follow.

her milk had spoiled four hours ago. a low battery notification obscures her twitter feed.

she frowns.

rather could she be better wasting the time in sways of hips and twists of lips, and practicing would assuredly earn her a sweat to render the blanket coffin she still underneath curls toes shivering obsolete, but she's just so lazed this time of year sans any touring that she'd prefer herself a gander's bride gone south. she swipes the warning gone from her screen, lolls the arm attached to it a near socket's dislocation in its heavy swing off the couch's side. hardly has she anything other to entertain (slapping the idea primary of rising and flouncing her skirt about sharp to the cheek) with the likes of cable, internet, radio all hushed. she could waste the remaining 19% on a gabfest, though she wonders any other who'd afford their own sapped. perhaps the second prissiest richest idol girl, with the second nicest view in all of honshu (because the one from her two story studio is an absolute murder motive), the shined most shoe tops and attitude a lead pipe to the teeth.

"hi, togami!" she chirps upon the call's reception. it isn't her first choice for a conversation partner, roughly more the last, but texting with that first choice had ended in a  _seen one hour ago_ and nary another breath, so she'd quite like to interrupt what she's sure has stolen his capricious firework attention span. "what're you up to?"

dial tone.

she frowns.

not a full minute later does a vibration steal her palm, and she's lifting it to marry her face and a grin the pastor, "hi, naegi!"

he's a loss for steadied in the way his voice trembles so weighted.  _"hi, maizono, sorry about that. did you-"_ and he pauses to take a muffling, huffs back into the sentence's completion, " _did you need anything?"_

the dirty vhs she's captured as a best friend drives her scorn to tauten, snaps back to plastic in her continuum. "just bored out of my mind. wanna hang out?"

muffle, huff, steal, force.  _"ah, we're- i'm-i'm a little busy right now, sorry. the power's still out here, too."_ there's a long break in the speech that makes her glance to question her phone's life, presses it back in time to catch,  _"you should call kyouko, hers is- mmf -on, i think."_

the patter to her heart fits ill her indolent state. the idea's a keg of powder. upon such a dark cold afternoon, though, she thinks she could quite use a match.

their call drowns neath pacific tides, and she's all agog to set sail again when her brain hears the gossip of what her fingers are up to and clenches them frozen as the whipping snow. she's upright, blankets fallen to lap and to floor, phone in hand and warning her again that she's dropped another interval. that breathes  _now or never_ to her neck, pulse thrumming against its sinister lips.

she could always tone her legs til midnight should end her dance practice, but-  _"hello."_

and it isn't a question, nothing's ever a question to a stone skinned psychoanalyst, and her eyelids pinch nude to the challenge of her throat.

"hi, kirigiri!"

then she's a thousand pro celsius in a sub zero studio, tossing blankets barretting bangs scrawling charcoal against her lashes (and she bites the gloss to her redoing of it all after those fingers quiver so), and she's a freshman prepping for her first school dance in the shove of limber limber legs away from lounge pants to claim suede. she does not think that a layered miniskirt may not be the best apparel for a blizzard until it gnaws against her flesh, but it helps her attract the cab that's shown up by the grace of good god, and the driver just cannot refuse creamy shins or bright blue eyes. or a fifty five hundred yen promise.

chilled knuckles kiss the wood marked  _11A_ not half an hour post, and not half a minute post does it swing freed to ignite her lungs once over.

bored eyes run the length of her without once moving from her face, one smiling timid to greet her hostess. kirigiri stands those quiet moments her signature, long enough to be sipped at by the other likewise; blank face not dolled the slightest. long sleeved black and long legged cotton gray. a princess. maizono chokes on a flushing, though prattles so sweetly, "thanks for inviting me over! it was totally boring at my place."

to the nod forward, she enters, hand round the purse strap at one shoulder as she peeks about. at the disturbance, a calico flash darts from the couch a mile a minute to flatten in the safe haven of a bed's underneath. the television rests dormant within the room she resides still now sans any feline, lit only by low swallowing evening's smolder. she notes the novel rested splayed to the coffee table aside a tea cup void in steam.

"oh! i thought your power was on," she says, a touch mortified, a touch gooey in disappointment.

it leaks remained the seconds before she's contradicted, "it is," as the other steps past her, thick socks striped to the tile and loose tied hair swaying behind. the refrigerator blinds them heaven's gates in her tug of it. "tea?"

she's dropped her purse beside that book and self to cushion, because it's just kirigiri's apartment, and she's been here a dozen times to rejoice in the lush hold of companionship. mostly so, she's come with the third who'd at all joined them, but she recalls a fine sheen of times they've been sole in cinema, only the two of them in curling lashes and powdering cheeks in the hour before they're to each join the groomsmaid line, not any other present for their chattering over a new year's dawn when all others had taken plans weeks ago and  _lean back, i bet i can get the popcorn in your mouth from here._ her phone guzzles currents from its plug into the wall aside her. two gilded little mugs return on their saucers pinched in leather, and maizono recalls wishing to be in those tea cups' place until the very last credit rolled, the sizzling on her tongue to think a pair of barbies done up in white veils rather than the paled cerulean gowns forced to them (though much better an option, as she'd chosen them herself after snubbing the mini dresses their so cherished groom had picked first, because  _for god's sake, makoto, it's the middle of december-),_ tempted so closely to be that toss forward to lips waiting open at the couch's other end.

she frowns.

saucers set, she's returned to with another plate dressed neatly in steamed buns nuked from a leftovers' chill.

her lips quake about, "oh, i don't eat-"

"vegetarian." presumed is it the introduction intended initial, late to her so calculating pattern and stopping for no man. the dish sets to the coffee table. gray cotton sets to the couch aside her. "i quite fondly recall makoto with his head stuffed in my fridge after spending a weekend with you." she sips the tea so scalding. "i believe you owe me three plates of curry."

her snort is derisive amusement, and a palm goes to her mouth in the censure of having just done her best friend laugh rather than the sweet giggle saved for sheets' hope impression. it drops to claim thirst in place of conversation; rouge stains the porcelain rim after a short blow to ripple.

when she again looks up, it is only to a blunt row's bangs and the etched in front cover of  _l_ _'ingénu._ maizono coughs up her tea.

she's placing the cup down to the eyes that scan over book's edge to check over her, clears her throat and sits pretty for their judgement.

"um," and who the  _fuck_ is she to be nervous, to claim not each heart in her hand of those she should dare glance, "i missed you guys on christmas. i hope next year i can convince you to come to novoselic with me," she laughs, and,  _oh! "_ oh! did you like the bracelet?"

in the rush of holidays, she'd forgotten of its existence, forgotten of its necessity, too, until the last moment possible to kick in the doors of a department store (thinking the whole way  _oh kirigiri oh no how could i be such an idiot why the hell did i have to spend so long looking for that stupid video game god damn you naegi makoto-_ ) and trounce unto its jewelry's finest. but it matters not at all now, and the age old pages have gone to kiss the tabletop again in a trade for drink.

"yes," is the reply in totality, bringing upward the cup as she combats, "i trust you spent the giftcard well."

maizono nods in the thrill of hook caught. never would she let such a gesture go unbadmouthed behind backs so impersonal, but it's,  _kirigiri kyouko,_ a perfect detective and an imperfect shopper nor seeker to time squandered down aisles useless. and fifteen thousand yen to a tokyo boutique each year is not a thing to sneeze at. "i did," she assures, sooner to room temperature than to refuse that trust. her arms extend to either side, the peachy perfect runway angel. "i got this jacket, isn't it great?"

it earns a look over, the gaudy array of faux fur blinding white enough to make her a plow's unseen breakfast. her manicure is a glossed baby pink. her skirt is blush. her beret is blush. the blouse beneath the coat is a plain tar black. her boots are beige. her eyes are blue.

kirigiri nods.

maizono brightens in searing delight.

it's quiet a long, long while. it's quiet a long long while whilst kirigiri sips and kirigiri reads, and maizono leans back to the soft plush of the sofa's hold, scrolling amidst media updates. teeth too white to be flawless crunch loud into steamed vegetables.

nearly does she forget she's company until the silence has its marrow split in the dust of voice.

"maizono," the rose blooms into, captures her wild rabbit stare. department store silver glints at her wrist when she moves to switch a page. "i think my cat likes you."

a wild rabbit is too her chest in the clock's ticks that claim her solid. and though her hands do shiver a delectable melody to the keys, hasn't she the rawest chap of skin to deflect it.

her eyes follow the other into a lean forward, an ocean's wave back to lax in a newfound bite to a warmed dumpling.

maizono draws back her focus to her own accords.

she smiles.


End file.
